


Dim Vales and Shadowy Floods

by velvetjinx



Category: Captain America (Movies), Celtic Mythology, Irish Mythology, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Don't Judge Me, Fae & Fairies, M/M, Scottish and Irish folklore mashup, Steve is a mortal, bucky is a fae prince, fairytale style language, fairytale style smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 17:11:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10903812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetjinx/pseuds/velvetjinx
Summary: A young mortal named Steve finds himself in the world of the daoine sìth, sentenced to seven years of servitude for falling asleep in a fairy ring in the forest. Little does he know that this unexpected turn of events will lead him to adventure and true love.





	1. Glossary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chiyume](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiyume/gifts).



> "Chapter 1" is basically extensive notes and a glossary.

First of all, this work was heavily inspired by the first two pieces of Chiyume's flower crown series:

[Steve](http://chiyume.tumblr.com/post/160470736254/ox-eye-daisies-innocence-purity-beauty)

[Bucky](http://chiyume.tumblr.com/post/159748262054/daffodils-rebirth-new-beginnings-forget-me-nots)

because they are SERIOUSLY BEAUTIFUL, OKAY. Also thanks be to Chiyume for allowing me to bounce ideas off her, and for giving me even more ideas. You are awesome. ❤️

Title is from the poem "Fairy-Land" by Edgar Allen Poe.

Mammoth thanks to ediblecrayon for the read through and cheerleading, and to buckities and heartofthemirror for the beta and suggestions. 

Glossary of names and terms:

Daoine sìth: Scottish Gaelic for "the people of the mounds" (fairy mounds)  
MacIòsaph: Scottish Gaelic for "son of Joseph"  
Còiseam: Scottish Gaelic for "Constantine"  
Goibniu: Irish God of smithies and hospitality  
Lugh Lámfada: Lugh of the long arm, an Irish warrior God  
Brigid: Irish goddess of Spring and fertility, daughter of the Dagda  
Nuada Airgeadlámh: Nuada of the silver arm, a great king of the Tuatha dé Danann  
Dian Cecht: Irish God, physician  
Iron (including horseshoes), rowan trees, St John's Wort: all things said to deter fairies


	2. Dim Vales and Shadowy Floods

Steve had always known about the fairies who lived in the woods nearby. His father, and later his mother, and now Steve always left a bowl of cream out for the fairies at night, and when his grandfather had built the house, he had knocked off one of the corners lest it impede the fairies on their path. 

Steve rarely ventured into the woods unless he had to, always veering around the fairies’ paths and mounds and rings if he was under obligation to pass through. As a blacksmith's apprentice, he kept an iron nail in his pocket, and always clutched it to him when he passed an area that looked like it belonged to the fae-folk. 

For all that, he was not terribly afraid of the fairies; he was simply respectful. He knew that if he did not anger them, no real harm would come to him. And so even after his father and mother were gone, he continued to leave out the bowl of cream and never, ever venture out after dark unless he had to. 

One day, after a hard day’s labour in the blacksmith’s shop, the blacksmith took him aside, putting a kindly arm over his shoulder. 

“You're doing well, lad,” the blacksmith told him. “When I took you on as my apprentice as a favour to your good mother when she was dying, God rest her soul, I wasn't sure how you'd turn out, but you're doing well. But you'd do even better if you'd get your head out of the clouds and stop spending all your time drawing nonsense.”

“It isn't nonsense,” Steve replied stubbornly. 

“It is, lad, and many of the folk hereabouts think you're a little touched.” The blacksmith looked at him not unkindly. “This is a good trade for you, and having no sons of my own you will probably take over from me one day. So you need to pay attention to what you're doing instead of daydreaming, or you'll shoe another horse backwards like you did to old Biddy Baxter’s horse the other day.”

“That was an accident!”

“Aye, lad, I know. But how many more accidents will there be? Stop your dreaming and live in the real world for a while.” The blacksmith sighed. “Well, I've said my piece, Steve, son of Joseph. Go on with you.”

Steve nodded and nearly ran out the door, not watching where he was going, and soon found himself in the deep woods. He yawned, suddenly overcome with exhaustion, and lay down for a nap. Little did he realise where he was; for he had lain down in the middle of a fairy ring, which he would have known augured not well for him. 

***

When he awoke, his head was pillowed on a cushion of moss, and there was a giggle behind him. He looked up, almost blinded by the lamps which lit a path he knew not. There was a young woman sitting near him, a lyre on her lap, and she was of such ethereal beauty that Steve knew she was one of the fae-folk. He gasped, and she giggled again. 

“Are you a mortal?” she asked in a high, tinkling voice. “For I have not seen one of your kind for many’s the year.”

“I am,” Steve replied haltingly. “Where am I?”

“You are in the Otherworld of the daoine sìth,” she said with a laugh, “although I think you knew that already, mortal. Pray tell, what is your name?”

“I'd rather not say,” Steve said carefully, for names have power, and he did not want to give that power to a fairy. 

“Suit yourself. But we know you, mortal. You put cream out to sustain us on our journeys and one of your family made your house so it would not block our path. You plant no rowan trees or St John’s Wort in your garden, and you hang no horseshoes on your door. You are a friend to the daoine sìth, whatever else.”

Steve inclined his head, as a young man walked up to them. He too was beautiful, although his features were hard. 

“You're the mortal who dared to sleep in one of our rings,” the young man said, his tone jovial but with an undercurrent of steel. “Surely you know the punishment for that?”

“Punishment?” Steve swallowed. “I swear I did not mean to--”

“Whether you meant to or not is no excuse,” the young man interrupted. “You did, and must therefore serve us for seven years. Only then may you return to your world.”

Steve felt his eyes well up with tears and blinked them back. Seven whole years would mean losing his apprenticeship, because who would believe that he had been captured by fairies?

“Cheer up, mortal,” the young man said, smiling. “You may even find you like it here, and the time will pass quickly for you if you work hard and well for us. Come with me, and I will find somewhere for you to work.”

Steve followed the young man down the lamp-lit path, out of the forest, and paused, stunned. There was a whole kingdom in front of his eyes, brightly lit and shining white, with what appeared to be a large palace at the top of the hill. 

“What is your occupation in the land of mortals?” the young man asked him, and Steve swallowed. 

“I am a blacksmith's apprentice,” he answered, in hushed tones lest he break the spell of beauty which was all around him. 

“Then you may work on shoeing our horses. We use not iron, as you may be aware, but we have our own metal which is strong and durable. I would imagine the process to be very much the same, although if it is not, you will quickly learn.”

The young man led him through the gleaming streets, and the fae-folk stared as they passed, whispering behind their hands. Steve felt as though he was an exhibit at a travelling circus, and he liked the feeling very ill. 

Finally, at the foot of the hill where stood the palace, the young man stopped next to a house outside of which several horses were tethered. He knocked on the door and after a few moments another young man opened it. This young man was dark where the other was fair, and his features soft where the other’s were hard. 

“Why have you brought me a mortal, Lugh?” he asked in a deep voice. 

“And here I thought you'd be grateful, Goibniu,” Lugh replied with a laugh. “A mortal smithy to assist you for his seven years. I'm sure he has some skill with the hammer, but he is only a young lad so do be careful with him.”

And with that, Lugh wandered off, whistling, as Goibniu sighed. 

“Well, you'd better come in then, mortal. We can't have you just standing out here gaping at everything.”

“What did he mean, I'm just a young lad?” Steve asked, feeling slightly indignant. “I must be at least as old as him!”

Goibniu looked amused. “You're not even a tenth as old as he is, lad. The daoine sìth age slowly, if we age at all. Lugh there is as old as any of us, and I can remember several centuries.”

“Oh.” 

“So what's your name, lad?” Goibniu asked as he turned towards the fire. 

Steve thought for a moment, then smiled. “MacIòsaph,” he replied. 

Goibniu gave him a long, considering look, and Steve could tell that he didn't believe him. Instead of calling him on it, however, Goibniu merely shrugged, smiling. 

“If that is what you wish to be called, MacIòsaph, then that is what you shall be known as. But be warned--it's disrespectful to lie, and you wouldn't want to be disrespectful, would you?”

Steve shook his head emphatically. To disrespect the fae-folk was ill-advised--this he knew well. And it wasn't exactly a lie; the people of his town had been known to refer to him as “Steve MacIòsaph” for as long as he could remember. 

“Well then. We’ll have a bite and sup, and then you can show me your skill.”

Steve hesitated. “Let me cook,” he said at length. “You'll find I have some skill for that.” For Steve knew that to eat any of the fae-folks’ food was to bind himself to the Otherworld. 

Goibniu threw back his head and laughed. “My, my, MacIòsaph, you _are_ well versed in our ways, are you not? Very well. You may take over kitchen duties, though I confess I am not sorry that I will not have to slave over a hot stove for as long as you bide with me.” He gave Steve an appraising look. “I believe you and I will get on well, young mortal.”

Steve made a recipe his mother had taught him on her knee, and Goibniu was well pleased with it. 

“You tell the truth, young MacIòsaph. You have indeed skill in the kitchen. Tell me, who taught you?”

“My mother,” Steve said quietly. 

“And do you worry about your mother and father missing you while you serve the daoine sìth?”

Steve shook his head. “Both my parents have passed on. It's just me now.”

Goibniu regarded him with sympathy. “Truly, I am sorry. Mortal lives are short, are they not?”

Steve nodded. “The elders in my town would seem but children to you.”

“No doubt, no doubt. Yet so old and wrinkled looking they are!” Goibniu wrinkled his nose. “Even the eldest among us are still youthful in complexion and fair of face.” He sat back, his expression contented. “Now, let us see what skill you have with the hammer and anvil.”

Steve followed Goibniu through to his workshop, and picked up the tools he required. He worked quickly and well; well enough that Goibniu was fair pleased with his efforts. 

“Aye, mortal, you shall do. Now, I shall show you to the chamber where you may sleep, but heed me well--you do not want to wander abroad after dark.”

“Nor is it my habit to, sir,” Steve said politely. “I have always been abed early and stayed in out of respect to you and your kin.”

“A wise mortal!” Goibniu said with a laugh. “That is unusual. But if you are so wise, how came you here?”

“I lost myself in the forest, and was overcome with sleep I knew not where, but Lugh tells me that I fell asleep in a ring.”

Goibniu narrowed his eyes. “You were overcome with sleep in the middle of the forest? Tell me, young mortal, was this a usual occurrence?”

“It was not, I confess. I have never done such a thing before. It was not even yet dark.”

“Hmm,” Goibniu hummed to himself. “I smell a trick by one of my kin to trap you into service. Do not worry yourself, lad,” he added as Steve's eyes began to fill with angry tears. “There is nothing to be done now, and I'm sure no real harm--only mischief--was meant.”

Steve nodded, trying to calm his racing heart. It was a mean trick indeed; but then, this was a chance for adventure. 

Goibniu seemed to notice his change in demeanour and smiled. “There, young mortal. And surely it is not so bad here with us daoine sìth?”

“No, indeed, sir.”

“Well, then. Now, to bed with you, for we rise at dawn to set the fires.”

As Goibniu turned to lead him up the staircase, there was a knock at the door. Goibniu frowned, but opened the door, and the young woman who had been there when Steve had awoken stood in the doorway. 

“Brigid! To what do we owe the honour of your company?” Goibniu asked with a broad smile. 

“I brought some garments for the mortal to wear, as his stay with us is to be so long.”

Steve took the garments with a nod, remembering that his mother had always told him to never thank the fae-folk lest they take offence. Instead, he said, “And how may I serve the good lady for her kindness?”

This was obviously the right thing to say, as her smile widened. “I know not yet, mortal, but I will ask when I have need of you.”

“It would be my honour to serve you.”

She laughed her high tinkling laugh. “I like this mortal. He's respectful, if he will not give a name.”

“Oh, he has given me the name of MacIòsaph,” Goibniu said idly, “and though I do not think it is a lie, I do not think it to be the whole truth.”

Brigid smirked. “He knows what power names have,” she said. “He is very knowledgeable, for a mortal. Someone has taught him well.”

“Indeed.” Goibniu looked at Steve consideringly. “Well, Brigid, I do not wish to hasten you away, but it's time this mortal was abed, as I plan to put him to work tomorrow.”

“Then I shall take my leave. Fare thee well, Goibniu. Fare thee well, MacIòsaph. May your dreams be sweet!”

With a final wave, Brigid left, closing the door behind her. Goibniu clapped him on the shoulder. 

“Come on then, lad. To your chamber and to bed.”

As Steve followed Goibniu up the staircase, he marvelled at the turn his life had taken. He half expected to wake up in his own bed and find that it had all been a dream. 

***

Steve awoke the next morning to a banging on his door. His eyes flew open, and he jumped out of bed, going to the chamber door and opening it. 

“Morning, lad!” Goibniu greeted him in his deep, booming voice. “You must have been tired indeed, slug-a-bed, for it is nearly five! Put on your garments and come downstairs, for breakfast has yet to be made and I dare not make it lest it go to waste when you refuse to eat it.” Goibniu’s tone was teasing, and Steve smiled to hear it. 

“I will be down anon, good sir,” he said, and Goibniu nodded. 

“Be quick about it, for I could eat the horses, so hungry am I.”

Steve washed himself and dressed quickly before rushing down the staircase to the kitchen. He immediately busied himself making porridge in a large silver pot, and when it was done laid it out in bowls with a jug of fresh cream. Goibniu smiled at him. 

“You have done well again, lad. If you carry on this way, I may have to keep you past the seven years!” 

Steve looked up at him, his expression dismayed, and Goibniu laughed. 

“Worry yourself not, MacIòsaph. Whatever else we are, we are honourable, and would not keep you past the seven years unless you chose to stay.”

They ate in silence, the only sound their spoons against the bowls, until at last their bowls were empty and Goibniu sat back with a satisfied sigh. 

“Truly, your good mother taught you well, MacIòsaph. Now, we will clear away the dishes and set the fires burning in the smithy.”

The plates and silver pot were soon sparkling clean again, and Steve followed Goibniu through to the smithy where they set the fires ready for the day ahead. 

The day was busy; several of the fae-folk came to have their horses re-shoed, or their weapons or armour repaired. Steve had a feeling that most of them had simply come to see him, since as a mortal he was an object of curiosity. He did not mind it, though, for they were all kindly to him. 

That evening, as he sat in a large, comfortable chair in front of the fire with Goibniu, the smithy began to question him about his life in the land of mortals. Steve answered easily enough, telling Goibniu all about his town and the residents, and how kind they had been to him since his mother had passed on. 

“And you, yourself,” Goibniu said, “being a smithy is surely not your only talent. Do you sing, or play?”

“I do not, sir, for I never learned.” Steve hesitated. “I do have one talent, although you may think it foolish as others do.”

“And what is that?”

“I can draw, and paint,” Steve confessed. “I spend much of my spare time filling my sketchbook with images from my own brain, or from the world around me.”

“That is a talent indeed, lad. Can you sketch me?”

Steve nodded, and Goibniu handed him a fresh sketchbook and some pencils from the cabinet. They sat facing each other and, as always, with a pencil in his hand Steve forgot about the world around him, aware only of the scratching of the lead and the picture taking shape on the paper. 

His pencil flew over the paper, and one by one Goibniu’s features appeared as Steve saw them, lit as they were by the firelight. Goibniu sat still as a statue, never moving a muscle as Steve worked, shading and bringing out both shadows and highlights, until finally he sat back, satisfied. 

“It is done,” Steve proclaimed, handing the sketchbook over to Goibniu, who stared down at the drawing as though he had seen a ghost. Steve waited nervously for judgement as the seconds ticked by. 

“Well, MacIòsaph,” Goibniu said eventually. “Well, lad. You have indeed a gift for art, and if I knew not better, I would say I had blessed you with it myself. This is indeed a wonderful likeness.” He laughed, suddenly, surprising Steve. “Lugh will like you all the better for having this gift, for he loves mortals who can draw his pretty face.”

Steve was well pleased with this reaction, for since his mother’s death no one had appreciated his gift, instead ridiculing it, for what use was such a gift in daily life?

As though able to read his mind, Goibniu observed him kindly. “Am I to understand that your fellow mortals were not so impressed with your gift?”

“They were not,” Steve replied with a sigh. “They thought I was touched for spending my time drawing instead of in more useful endeavours.”

“Touched by the daoine sìth you may be, lad, for I never saw such skill in one so young; but I doubt very much you are touched in any other way. Those mortals are fools, who appreciate talent not when it is right in front of their faces.”

Steve flushed with pleasure. He had only been in the Otherworld for a full day, and yet he was starting to like it more and more. 

***

Bucky, the young prince of the daoine sìth, yawned, stretching his long limbs sleepily as he relaxed on the long grass outside the palace. 

“Good morrow, my son,” his father, the great king Nuada Airgetlám, said as he passed him. 

“Good morrow, Father,” Bucky replied. “What news from the kingdom?”

King Nuada shrugged, holding out his silver arm to Bucky. Bucky took it and allowed himself to be pulled up. “All is well in the land of the daoine sìth, my son. Our people are happy, and contented, and there is no sign of any war on the horizon.” The king paused as they walked through the door of the palace. “However, I did hear tell of a mortal.”

“A mortal?” Bucky asked, surprised. “What is a mortal doing in our world?”

“According to Lugh, he fell asleep in one of our rings in the forest near his home, and must therefore serve his seven years. Though Lugh was a little too happy about it--I suspect he had something to do with why the mortal fell asleep in the first place.”

“A mean trick to play indeed,” Bucky said sharply, and his father gave him an indulgent look. 

“Now, now, my son. I know that you and Lugh do not always see eye to eye, but if he did play this trick on the mortal, then it was only in fun.”

“Still.” Bucky sighed. “Where is this mortal staying? I have not looked upon a mortal for many’s the year, and I confess I am intrigued.”

His father laughed. “He bides with Goibniu, as the mortal is a smithy. To hear Lugh tell it, half of the daoine sìth have been to get something done there today in order to look upon the mortal lad. Doubtless he feels like he is on show. Perhaps leave it a few days? Then you can take your horse to be reshod, for I notice his shoes are worn.”

Bucky smiled at his father. “You may be right, father. I will heed your advice.”

The king clapped his son on the shoulder, and together they went in for supper.

***

Steve quickly got into the routine of life with Goibniu at his smithy. In truth, it was not so different than his life in the mortal world, except that here there were no more lonely evenings, and Goibniu did all he could to encourage Steve to draw by the lamp- and firelight. 

After a few days, Steve felt almost as though he had always been in the Otherworld; the fae-folk had stopped treating him as an object of peculiarity, and barely noticed him at all. That is, until Brigid came to visit and laid eyes on the drawings which Goibniu had hung on the wall. 

“Have you taken to sketching of an evening?” she inquired. “This self portrait is very fine.” She pointed to the drawing Steve had done of Goibniu that first evening, and Goibniu laughed. 

“No, Brigid, these are not mine. The young mortal lad has a fair talent, do you not think?”

Brigid’s eyes widened. “ _Fair_ talent?” she exclaimed. “I thought they were yours, so well detailed are they. Dear MacIòsaph, as part of your repayment for my kindness in bringing you garments, would you draw a portrait of my own self?”

“Fair Brigid, it would be my pleasure,” Steve replied sincerely, and she bestowed on him one of her sweetest smiles, so sweet that had women stirred anything within him, he would have been caught in that moment. 

“Come to my abode tomorrow evening, once you are done with your work,” she told him. 

“Be warned, Brigid,” Goibniu said with a smile, “that he will eat none of what you cook, so there is no point inviting him for dinner.”

Brigid huffed. “Fine. After your evening bite and sup, come. Goibniu will tell you the way.”

Steve bowed to her and she tripped away. As the door closed behind her, Goibniu gave him a knowing look. 

“Many’s the mortal has been entrapped by Brigid’s beauty,” he said, his tone a warning. “But she is married, so it would not do for you to lose your heart to her.”

“That is unlikely, good sir,” Steve replied. “Womenfolk are wonderful. That a woman conceived me, I thank her; that she brought me up, I likewise give her most humble thanks. But they are not for me.”

Goibniu nodded. “All the better for you, lad. Best you stay out of trouble while in the land of the daoine sìth.”

***

Bucky followed his wise father’s advice, and waited some days before taking his horse, Còiseam, to be reshod at Goibniu’s smithy. He rode him from the palace stables down the hill, drawing him to a stop when they reached their destination. The door was open, and Bucky looked inside. His breath caught in his throat at the sight. 

A young man--a young _mortal_ man--stood at the forge, and he was so handsome that Bucky thought he might be dreaming. The lad’s fair hair was swept back from his forehead, his arms under the garment he wore were well muscled, and his features were as fine as any in the kingdom of the daoine sìth. His beauty was not otherworldly, but more earthy, and Bucky fell in love at first sight. 

“Your highness!” Bucky and the mortal both looked up as Goibniu strode through the door at the back of his smithy. The mortal looked confused for a moment, then followed Goibniu's line of sight and, spotting Bucky there, flushed rosy pink. 

Goibniu walked over and held out his hand, which Bucky grasped. 

“Good Goibniu, I trust all is well?” Bucky asked warmly, for he had a soft spot for the man ever since he had crafted the king’s silver arm. 

“All is as you see, your highness. May I introduce my young mortal lodger, MacIòsaph, who is to serve with me these seven years? MacIòsaph, this is Prince Bucky, youngest son of our great king.”

The young mortal, MacIòsaph, put down his tools and took off his thick gloves, before slowly approaching him and bowing. “Your highness,” he said in low tones. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, MacIòsaph,” Bucky said sincerely, holding out his hand. The young mortal took it to shake, and at the touch of their hands Bucky felt a jolt go through him, as though he had been struck by lightning. The mortal’s eyes widened, and Bucky wondered if he had felt it too. 

“The pleasure is mine, your highness,” MacIòsaph said softly, dropping his head and looking up at him through long eyelashes. 

“Would you care to dine with me tonight?” Bucky blurted out, then blushed. “Both of you, I mean. I'm sure my father would enjoy your company, Goibniu, and I would enjoy getting to know our visitor better.”

“Alas, your highness, but MacIòsaph will eat none that he has not prepared by his own hand,” Goibniu replied. “And besides, the lad has a prior engagement--the fair Brigid has requested his presence to draw her portrait.”

This was a surprise indeed. “You draw?” he inquired of the young man. 

“I do, your highness,” he replied bashfully, and if Bucky had not already been in love, he would have fallen deep at that moment. 

“He has a great skill for it, which was not appreciated by his fellow mortals; I feel that he will be more appreciated for it here.” Goibniu smiled at MacIòsaph. “Brigid was greatly impressed with a portrait he did of myself his first day here.”

“I should like to see this portrait,” Bucky said sincerely, and Goibniu smiled wide. 

“And so you shall.” Goibniu hesitated for a moment. “Did you come here for a particular reason, your highness? Not that you aren't always welcome here…”

“I did,” Bucky replied, blushing at his own forgetfulness. “My horse Còiseam needs reshod.”

“Why don't you get on with that, lad, while I show his highness your drawings?” Goibniu told MacIòsaph, who nodded. 

“Yes, sir.” The young lad turned to get his tools and yet, as Bucky followed Goibniu into the house, he could feel the mortal’s eyes upon him and wondered what it meant. 

***

As soon as the prince and Goibniu had left the smithy, Steve's shoulders slumped and he leaned against the wall. Never had he seen any man so handsome as the young prince; never had any man set his heart racing nor caused his mouth to dry up. And when they had shaken hands, Steve had felt as though he had been goosed--nay, even more than that. 

He shook his head, gathering his tools and shoes for the horse. He had been in the Otherworld for less than a week. It would not do for him to fall in love with one of the fae-folk when he would be leaving at the end of seven years never to return. 

Steve set to work, and the horse observed him calmly as he first removed the old, worn shoes, then put on the new. He was just finishing up the last one when the prince and Goibniu emerged from the smithy, talking and laughing together. 

“Is it done?” Goibniu asked, and Steve nodded. 

“It is. He's a fine beast,” he added, addressing the prince. 

“Aye, he and I have been through much together,” the prince replied, stroking down the horse’s flank. “It is a pity you will have none of any food you have not prepared yourself, for it would be a pleasure to dine with you, but I understand your hesitation. Yet know this, MacIòsaph, in my father’s house there would be nothing to trick you.”

“Yes, your highness,” Steve said, eyes wide. 

The prince smiled at him, and Steve was lost. “Well, I had better be getting back to the palace,” the prince said, his tone reluctant. He mounted his horse, then turned to Steve. “You truly have a great gift for art, MacIòsaph. Perhaps you will draw me some day.”

“It would be my honour, your highness,” Steve said sincerely, and the prince nodded, before setting off with a wave. 

Steve watched him go until Goibniu clapped him on the shoulder, bringing him back to himself. 

“And what do you think of our young prince, lad?” Goibniu asked with a smile. Steve opened his mouth to answer, but could not find the words, so he shut it again, and Goibniu laughed. “Never mind. I think I know. But take heed, young mortal--I have told you before that it does not do to fall in love with one of the daoine sìth, and that goes for princes as well.”

“I would not were the choice mine to make,” Steve replied, sighing. “But alas, good sir, the heart wants what it wants.”

Goibniu gave him a look of concern. “Do not tell me you have already fallen for him! I smell trouble, for someone brought you here for a reason, and it would not have been our prince.”

Goibniu said no more, but his words weighed heavy on Steve's mind over the rest of the day. They ate in silence at supper, and afterwards Steve took his leave and followed Goibniu's directions to the home of the fair Brigid. 

Steve knocked on the door, and a few moments later it flew open to reveal a man, tall and broad like an oak tree. 

“Who are you? What do you want?” he barked, and Steve's eyes widened. 

“I come to visit the lady of the house on her request, good sir,” he replied, keeping his tone as polite as possible lest this man run him through with the sword which hung in a sheath from his belt. 

“Oh you do, hey?” The man narrowed his eyes. “Brigid!”

There was the sound of running footsteps, and Brigid appeared from behind the man. 

“MacIòsaph! You have come! Husband, let the mortal lad inside. MacIòsaph, this is my husband, Bres, who is not half as frightening as he makes himself out to be.”

Bres narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to argue, but Brigid ignored him and grasped Steve's arm, pulling him through the house to a large open living room where a fire blazed. 

“Now, MacIòsaph of the skilful pencil, where would you have me sit?” Brigid asked brightly. 

“On the rug by the fire, my lady, where the light is best,” Steve replied, and she giggled before seating herself comfortably. 

Steve could hear Bres tramping noisily through the house, but he interrupted them not, and Steve quickly settled into his drawing. It took him no more than a half an hour to complete the drawing, and when he handed the finished result to Brigid she squealed with delight. 

“Why, MacIòsaph, it is a perfect likeness! Your skill is indeed great. I shall hang it on my wall, and when people visit and ask who drew it I shall say, ‘a young mortal who visited us for awhile, and whose skill with the pencil was as great as any of the daoine sìth’.”

“My lady is kind,” Steve responded with a smile. “But I am glad you are well pleased with my work.”

She nodded, her eyes still on the picture, as though she could not tear them away. Finally, with reluctance, she looked up at him. “Come, MacIòsaph, and I shall walk you home, for you should not be abroad in our world at this time of the evening alone.”

Steve inclined his head, and together they walked back to the house of Goibniu. 

***

The following day, as Steve was working on creating more shoes for the horses of the daoine sìth, the door of the smithy opened and in strode Lugh. 

“Goibniu is gone to market,” Steve called to him, but Lugh smirked as he approached. 

“And yet I am not here to see Goibniu,” he drawled. “I have been hearing things of you, young mortal.”

“Oh?” Steve asked, trying not to show his nerves. 

“Aye. I've been hearing that you've been offering your services to Brigid, who now has a fine portrait hanging in her living room. She tells me that it was done by the mortal MacIòsaph, whom I assume must be yourself as we have no other mortals currently in our world.”

“It is myself who drew that portrait,” Steve confessed. 

“And you did not think to tell me of this talent when we first met?” Lugh didn't seem annoyed; on the contrary, he looked pleased. 

“Please excuse me, sir, for I was somewhat disoriented that evening to find myself in your world instead of my own.”

“Hmm, a fine excuse. I think as payment you should draw me a portrait of myself. What say you to that.”

“If you wish it, sir,” Steve said slightly stiffly. Lugh narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, sidling closer to Steve, when suddenly the door opened and in walked Prince Bucky. 

“Good morrow, MacIòsaph,” the prince greeted him, then nodded at Lugh. “Good morrow, Lugh.”

“Good morrow, your highness,” Lugh replied, sounding slightly annoyed, although why Steve could not fathom. “I think I will take my leave. Remember our agreement, _MacIòsaph_.” He swept past the prince with barely a nod and out the door. 

The prince watched him go, an unreadable expression gracing his features, before turning back to Steve with a smile. “What is your agreement?” he asked. 

“I am to draw his portrait as I neglected to mention my skill on our first meeting,” Steve replied with a sigh. 

“You seem to be in high demand indeed. And yet…” The prince looked at him searchingly. “And yet I wonder whether you like our dear Lugh.”

“It is not for me to like or dislike him,” Steve replied hurriedly, and the prince laughed. 

“It is fine if you do not. There is no love lost between he and I, as many know, and your opinion of him he shall not hear from me.” The prince paused, then stood up slightly straighter. “I have come to ask you if you and Goibniu would like to dine at my father’s on the morrow, and to reassure you again that we shall only serve food fit for your mortal mouth.”

“I--I would be honoured, your highness,” Steve stammered, his heart thumping in his chest. “Although I cannot speak for Goibniu, I myself have no prior plans.”

“Then I hope to see you there,” the prince said softly, before adding quickly, “both of you. I hope to see you both there.”

Steve nodded, his heart in his throat. A whole evening with the prince who had stolen his heart? He could hardly wait. 

***

When Goibniu returned, Steve told him of the prince’s invitation, and Goibniu observed him for a few moments before sighing. 

“We have no reason to refuse the prince’s invitation, and yet I would that we could, for your sake. Take heed, young MacIòsaph, and guard your heart well against unfortunate attachments.”

Steve nodded, although he knew it was already too late. There was a connection between himself and the prince; something unfathomably deep that he could not explain. It made him sad when he thought about it, for he knew at some point he would have to go back to the mortal realm, and yet he could not deny himself any chance he could get of seeing the prince. 

The next day passed quickly, and without event. Lugh returned to the smithy, but on seeing that Goibniu was working alongside Steve that day he made his excuses after a few minutes and left again. 

Goibniu looked between Steve and Lugh’s retreating back, a worried expression on his face. When Lugh was gone, he turned to Steve. 

“Has Lugh been in before while I was not here?” he asked, his tone sharp. 

“He came in yesterday. He wanted to know why I had not told him of my skill at drawing, and told me I must draw him as payment.”

“And did he stay long?”

“Not too long. He left when the prince arrived, though he seemed put out that the prince was there at all.” Steve looked at him curiously. “Is something afoot?”

“I fear so, lad, and I would warn you to be careful around Lugh. He is a fine warrior, but not so fine a man when he is angered or thwarted.” Goibniu clapped him on the shoulder. “But enough chatter. Back to work, hey?”

When it came time to leave for the palace, Steve followed Goibniu out of the smithy and up the hill. There were guards at the gate, and then again at the entrance, and Steve stared in marvel at all that was to be seen. The gardens were lush and filled with plants, some of which he recognised but some of which he knew not. When they were shown into a small dining room, Steve found himself to be surprised. He had assumed there would be a great banquet hall. 

He said as much to Goibniu, who laughed. “Aye, lad, there is; but that we are being shown in here means there are not so many to dine.”

Steve nodded, as the door opened, and in walked the king, followed by Prince Bucky. Goibniu knelt down, and Steve followed suit, as the king approached. 

“Please stand, Goibniu, my old friend,” the king said in kindly tones. “And is this the mortal I have heard so much of?”

“He is, your majesty,” Goibniu replied, getting to his feet. Steve stayed on his knee, head bowed. 

“I have heard much of you, young MacIòsaph,” the king added, addressing Steve. “Much of it from my youngest son here.” Steve sneaked a glance up at the prince, who flushed red. “Please stand, MacIòsaph.”

Steve did as he was bid, and the king smiled gently at him. 

“This lad is a great help to me,” Goibniu told the king as they made their way to the table. “His skill at the smithy is surpassed only by his skill with the pencil.”

“My son has told me of the wonderful portrait he drew of you, Goibniu,” the king responded, seating himself at the head of the table. The prince then took his seat, followed by Goibniu and finally Steve. “And also that he has much knowledge of the ways of the daoine sìth.”

“He has indeed,” Goibniu replied with a laugh. “I wonder at him accepting your invitation, for he will eat none of my cooking, and insists on doing all in the kitchen himself.”

“I feel that would suit you fine, Goibniu,” the King replied, his eyes twinkling. Steve took a great liking to the king in that moment, for he seemed a kindly soul. 

“It does indeed! And the lad can cook.”

“So tell us, MacIòsaph, what changed your mind and made you consider joining us for supper?” the king asked him. 

“Well, your highness,” Steve began slowly, “your good son the prince assured me that I would find no trickery in your house, and would be fed nothing that would bind me to your world without my consent.”

“What my son has given his word to is trustworthy indeed. He does not hold with the trickery of some of our kind, such as the kind which brought you to us.” Steve looked up in surprise, and the king smiled at him. “Oh yes, MacIòsaph, I am aware that it was a trick that made you fall asleep in one of the places in the forest that belongs to our people. But fear not--it was not malicious, and you have friends here now, so no harm will come to you.”

“That is indeed a comfort, your majesty,” Steve replied, “and if there is any way I can serve you, I would be grateful to repay your kindness.”

The king nodded. “I may indeed call upon you for something. Do you paint as well as draw?”

“I do, your majesty.”

“Our gallery is starting to look faded, and could do with brightening up with some new works. Perhaps you could supply these, if Goibniu gives you enough free time to complete such a task,” the king finished teasingly. 

“Oh, I'm sure I could give the lad an hour off here and there,” Goibniu replied with a laugh. 

“Good. Then it is settled--if MacIòsaph agrees.”

“It would be my honour to serve your majesty,” Steve said with a bow. 

The prince had remained silent throughout this whole exchange, but as the food was being served he smiled at his father. “I think I mentioned to you that I have already asked MacIòsaph to draw a portrait of myself,” he said, and the king nodded. 

“You might have mentioned it once or twice.” The king smirked, and the prince flushed. Steve looked between them, wondering why. 

The rest of the meal passed in easy conversation, with no further awkwardness. But it was with a heavy heart that Steve left the table once the meal was eaten, for the prince had barely spoken to him at all. Steve had hoped against hope that perhaps the prince felt something for him, but it seemed that this was not the case. 

And yet, as Steve and Goibniu were readying themselves to go, the prince strode up to him, smiling. 

“I hope that we can arrange a time soon for you to do your portrait of me,” the prince said, smiling bashfully. 

“Whenever it pleases your highness,” Steve replied. 

“Shall I come and see you one evening this week? I am sure Goibniu would not mind, and I--” The prince blushed to the roots of his hair. “I should like to spend more time with you, if you are amenable.”

Steve only just stopped himself from gaping at the prince’s words. Did he mean…? But before he could ask, the prince squeezed his arm and walked out of the room. Steve turned, and saw Goibniu giving him an assessing glance. 

“Be wary, MacIòsaph,” Goibniu warned him quietly, but Steve heeded him not, feeling instead like he was walking on air. 

***

Bucky could hardly wait to visit the young mortal again, yet princely duties kept him occupied the four days following. Finally, on the fifth day, he went down to the smithy at the time of closing. The young mortal was there, tidying up, and his face lit up when he saw Bucky standing in the doorway. 

“Your highness! I was not sure if you would be able to keep our engagement as I have not seen you these last few days,” MacIòsaph said, flushing. 

“And my apologies for that, but my duties kept me from you these past few days.”

“It is of no consequence, for you are here now,” the young mortal said eagerly. “And Goibniu has gone to speak to Credne, the silversmith, of some matter.”

“So it will just be the two of us until he returns?” If that was so then it was better than Bucky could have hoped for. 

“Aye, it will,” MacIòsaph replied, with a smile that squeezed Bucky's heart in his chest. 

He led Bucky through into the living room, then turned to him with a smile. “If you would like to sit in the chair by the fire, then we shall begin.”

Bucky nodded and did as he had been bid to, making himself comfortable in the large armchair. The young mortal picked up his pencils and sketchbook from the table and sat on the chair opposite. As soon as his pencil touched the paper, a look of intense concentration came over his face, as if he were in a trance, and for a moment he looked almost fae. But Bucky blinked, and he was back to looking mortal and desperately alive as he drew. 

If there is one thing that immortality teaches, it is patience, and so Bucky had no problem in sitting still for the portrait. It took perhaps three quarters of an hour altogether, until finally MacIòsaph looked up from his sketchpad and frowned. 

“What is wrong?”

MacIòsaph shrugged. “See for yourself.”

Bucky took the offered sketchpad and looked at it. He might have been looking in a mirror, so near was the likeness. “It's perfect!” he exclaimed, but MacIòsaph shook his head. 

“It is not. I tried to capture you, but you might as well try to capture the moon, so elusive is she.”

MacIòsaph stood up, frustration written all over his face, and Bucky got up too, walking over to him and grasping him by the arms. The young mortal looked up at him, wide eyed.

“What part of me was it that you feel you did not capture?” Bucky asked softly, and MacIòsaph swallowed hard. 

“The proud line of your nose,” he said gently. “The expression in your eyes when you look upon me. The softness of your lips…” MacIòsaph trailed off, staring at Bucky's lips as he licked his own, and Bucky could hold back no longer. He pulled the young mortal against him, crushing their lips together, and they both moaned as their mouths moved softly against one another. 

Bucky moved to deepen the kiss, and at the first taste of that sweet mouth he was lost to himself fully. 

There was a sudden thump, as though something had hit against the window, and MacIòsaph pulled back. 

“What was that?” he asked sharply, his eyes on the window. 

“I know not,” Bucky confessed, and MacIòsaph ran towards the window, looking out into the sunset. 

“There is nothing there,” MacIòsaph said as he came back. “Perhaps it was a bird.”

Bucky had his doubts, but said nothing, only held out his hand. MacIòsaph took it, blushing. 

“I know that you have only been with us a short time,” Bucky began, but at that moment there was a noise in the hallway and Goibniu entered the room. He stopped in the doorway, looking startled to see the two of them there, together. 

“His highness came to have his portrait drawn,” MacIòsaph said quickly, and Goibniu raised an eyebrow, staring at their joined hands. Bucky let go reluctantly, and MacIòsaph looked uncomfortable. “I will walk you out,” the young mortal said softly, and Bucky nodded in agreement. 

They walked together to the front door, but as he was about to leave Bucky turned and briefly pressed their lips together again. “Meet me tomorrow--in the clearing in the forest? When Goibniu lets you have your break for lunch?”

MacIòsaph smiled shyly. “I will be there,” he said softly, and Bucky left with a light heart.

***

When Steve returned to the living room, Goibniu was awaiting him. 

“Lad, what did I tell you?” he said gently. “No good can come of this.”

“It can and will,” Steve said boldly, “for where there is love, there is happiness.”

“Not always, lad.” Goibniu sighed. “I have been around for long enough to know that this is not always the truth. You have only been in our world a few weeks. Pass your seven years quietly and do not dally with the prince, would be my advice, else you may find your heart broken.”

“That I cannot believe,” Steve replied. “I have faith that this love is a good and powerful thing, and that things will turn out for the better.”

“Have you the gift of the sight as well?” Goibniu asked, eyebrow raised. “I only offer advice to be kind, lad.”

“I know,” Steve said, “and well am I grateful for your kindness.”

“But you intend to continue on this path.”

“Aye, good sir.”

Goibniu sighed again. “Well, may your luck be with you. Come, for it is time for supper.”

***

The following day, at lunchtime, Steve took his leave of Goibniu and walked briskly to the clearing in the forest. When he arrived, the prince was already there, a picnic basket beside him. A red checkered blanket was spread on the mossy ground beneath him, and he patted it invitingly. 

Steve smiled and went over to sit next to the prince, who leaned in and kissed him as soon as he was settled. 

“I have been waiting all day to do that,” the prince confessed at length, and Steve smiled shyly up at him. “Shall we eat?”

They ate and drank their fill, then lay back together on the blanket, looking up at the canopy of branches above them. 

“MacIòsaph,” the prince began, and Steve winced as it hurt him a little to hear his love call him by a name that was not quite his own. “What is wrong?”

Steve squirmed. “MacIòsaph is a name I have been given, it is true,” he confessed, “but it is not the name I was given at birth.”

The prince looked hurt, then understanding. “For names have power, and you did not wish to give so much power to the daoine sìth who had trapped you here for seven long years.”

“Aye, ‘tis true, and yet…” Steve sighed. “And yet it pains me to hear you not use my own name. My given name is--”

“Be sure,” the prince interrupted him. “I would not have you regret this, but if you are sure, then whisper it in my ear, for the trees have ears themselves.”

Steve smiled and leaned in, whispering his name into the prince’s ear. He pulled back, and the prince looked upon him, his expression soft. 

“It suits you,” he said simply. 

“Thank you, your highness,” Steve replied with a laugh. 

The prince frowned. “Call me Bucky. I would not have you address me so formally.”

“Bucky, then,” Steve said, smiling. “Now, Bucky, you must kiss me again, for it has been at least fifteen whole minutes since I last felt your lips on mine and that is too long for me.”

Bucky laughed, and pulled him in. They kissed for an unknown length of time, until their lips were numb and swollen, and finally Steve pulled back. 

“I must away. Goibniu will be wondering where I am.”

“If you must away then you must. When will I see you again?”

“Whenever you wish. You know where to find me,” Steve replied as he got to his feet, smiling down at Bucky's beautiful face. “But make it soon.”

“I shall at that. Fair thee well.”

Steve waved as he passed down the forest path, emerging into the sunlight with happiness welling in his chest. 

***

Bucky lay back on the blanket when Steve was gone, picking the remaining berries out of the basket and eating them one by one. He sighed happily as he remembered Steve's lips on his, and the way Steve had trusted him enough to tell him his true name. 

As he lay there, he heard a crackling of leaves, and sat up abruptly to see Lugh emerge from the forest, a nasty smile on his face. 

“So you have stolen what is mine, oh prince,” he said, and Bucky looked at him, confused. 

“I have stolen nothing of yours, Lugh,” he replied dismissively, but Lugh's expression twisted at this response. 

“Ah, but you have. That mortal was mine--I brought him here for me myself and you have stolen him from me.”

“The mortal belongs to no one but himself,” Bucky said angrily. “He is his own man and can make his own choices, and he would not have chosen you, Lugh, for it was you who tricked him into being trapped here in the first place. Sleeping dust in the eyes, I take it?”

“He _is_ mine,” Lugh growled. “Mine to do with as I please. I found him handsome and intended to have him in my bed ‘ere the year was out, and you have ruined all of that.”

Bucky looked at Lugh in disgust. “A great warrior you may be, but you are a horrible person, and I am ashamed to know you.”

“I demand recompense,” Lugh hissed. “Bucky, son of Nuada, I challenge you to a duel. This evening, in this very clearing.”

“I accept, because unlike you I am honourable,” Bucky retorted, and Lugh flushed an ugly, mottled red at the insult. “Shall we say six o’ the clock?”

Lugh nodded sharply and, turning on his heel, strode away. Bucky flopped back onto the blanket and sighed. Lugh was troublesome, and a good fighter, but Bucky had skill with the sword as well. 

He resolved not to tell Steve about the duel--he knew it would only worry him unnecessarily. He would tell him when it was done. 

***

When Steve returned to the smithy, Goibniu gave him a worried look and sighed, but said nothing, merely setting him to work once more. 

He worked hard all the afternoon, and was just cleaning up about quarter to six on the clock when the door flew open and Brigid burst in. 

“MacIòsaph! Where is Goibniu?” she cried. 

“He is in the house, my lady,” Steve replied. “What is the matter?”

“Lugh has challenged Prince Bucky to a duel, and the prince has accepted,” she said, almost tripping over her words in her rush to get them out. “But Goibniu may yet be able to talk sense into both of them, although Lugh has been heard to vow he will kill the prince, so angered is he.”

Steve paled at the thought of his prince being killed. “Where is the duel?”

“In the clearing in the forest. I must away to find Goibniu and then we may travel up together.”

She left him and went into the house, and Steve immediately took flight towards the forest, praying that he would not be too late. 

On his approach to the clearing, he could hear the sounds of fighting, of swords clashing against one another, of Lugh cursing Bucky as they fought. He put on a final burst of speed, entering the clearing and running towards the fighting. They paid him no heed, so engrossed in their battle were they, even when Steve shouted at them to stop. 

As he ran towards them, he noticed that Lugh had, concealed in his hand, a small dagger. Lugh made as if to thrust it at Bucky but Steve threw himself between them and felt the dagger’s blade enter his stomach. 

He saw Lugh's eyes widen as he stumbled backwards into Bucky's arms. Bucky caught him easily and helped him to the ground. 

“I did not mean… He appeared out of nowhere!” Steve heard Lugh say, his voice panicked, but he felt as though he were drifting away. His vision was cloudy as he looked up at Bucky's worried face. 

“I love you,” Steve managed, and then knew no more.

***

Bucky looked up from Steve's still body, tears brimming in eyes filled with rage. He hugged Steve close to him, pressing on the wound with one bloody hand. 

At that moment, Brigid and Goibniu burst into the clearing and, on seeing Steve lying so pale and still, Brigid began to weep. 

“Is he dead?” Goibniu asked gruffly. 

Bucky shook his head. “I believe he lives yet, though I know not for how much longer.”

Goibniu nodded. “Then we must get him to Dian Cecht as quickly as we can.”

He picked Steve up in his strong arms, and walked quickly out of the forest. Brigid and Bucky trailed after him, leaving Lugh standing alone in the clearing. Bucky resolved to deal with him later; for now, Steve was his main concern. 

***

Steve awoke to pain in his stomach and the smell of herbs and alcohol filling his nostrils. He gagged slightly, which made his stomach hurt even worse.

“Drink this,” a familiar voice said, and Steve opened his eyes to see Bucky standing at his bedside with a cup of water in his hands. Steve nodded and tilted his head up a little so he could drink, then dropped back onto the pillow. 

“How long…?” Steve croaked. 

“Two days did you hover twixt life and death,” Bucky told him, his knuckles white around the cup. “Dian Cecht used all the healing arts he has learned in his long years to bring you back from the brink.”

Steve could hear the pain in Bucky's voice and grasped his free hand, squeezing tightly. 

“Did you…” Bucky paused, frowning. “Did you mean what you said in the clearing?”

Steve cast his mind back, and flushed as he remembered what he had said just before the world had gone dark. “I did,” he said quietly, not daring to look at Bucky's face lest he find rejection there. 

“Steve, oh my Steve,” Bucky said breathlessly. “You know not how it thrills me to hear you say that.” Steve looked up sharply, and Bucky smiled down at him. “I am in love with you, as well,” he added softly, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to Steve's lips. 

Steve smiled, then, happier than he had ever been, until he remembered that he was a mortal, and his smile dropped. 

“My love, what is it?” Bucky asked, concerned. 

“It's just that… I am mortal, and must surely some day return to my own world,” Steve replied sadly. 

“Would you wish to?”

Steve shook his head. “There is nothing really for me there--my family is all gone, and while I was a blacksmith's apprentice, after seven years have passed he will no doubt have a new apprentice and I will have to find a new place for myself.”

“Then stay,” Bucky said. “Stay here with me. Become one of the daoine sìth, marry me, and we will live in the palace and you will want for nothing.”

Steve's heart thumped in his chest, so loudly he thought that Bucky might hear it. “Marry you? Become one of the daoine sìth? I did not know that was possible.”

“To be married is more than possible. To become one of us is less easy, but the option is there if you wish it.”

“And what of my seven years of service?”

Bucky waved his hand dismissively. “You were tricked into that. Besides, once you become one of us you will no longer be mortal, and therefore will not be fit to serve us.”

“My answer is yes, Bucky,” Steve said with a laugh. “Yes I will marry you, yes I will stay with you, yes I will become one of you and we will live out our days together in happiness.”

Bucky kissed him again, until they heard someone clear their throat behind him. Bucky pulled away and looked around, and there stood Dian Cecht, the healer, who was trying to frown, though he looked like he wanted to smile instead. 

“Are you interfering with my patient?” Dian Cecht asked seriously, “for I will not have it, sirrah. Be off with you while I tend to his wound.”

“Just one more thing,” Bucky said, his expression darkening. “I will have Lugh banished for what he has done to you, so you should not fear seeing him about any more.”

Steve frowned. “My love, that seems a harsh punishment for an accident. I beg of you, show leniency, for I am sure he feels badly enough as it is. It was I who got in the way of your duel; he did not attack me deliberately.”

Bucky looked at him thoughtfully. “Perhaps it is as you say. And I would do anything for you, my love. Very well. I shall not banish him, but I shall tell him how lucky he is.”

And with a final squeeze of Steve's hand, Bucky left, nodding at Dian Cecht as he passed. 

***

Bucky strode up to Lugh's abode and knocked sharply on the door. When Lugh answered, he looked as though he had not slept o’ nights since the duel. 

“I will not keep you,” Bucky said, trying to keep his anger down. “I felt it to be my right to banish you from this kingdom, but the mortal has asked for leniency on your behalf.”

Lugh looked surprised. “He… he did that? After all the trouble I brought him?”

“He did.” Bucky shrugged. “He is a good man.”

“A better man than I am,” Lugh said softly. “And you love him.”

“I do.”

“And he loves you.” 

“He does.”

Lugh nodded. “Then I wish you both merry lives together.” He paused, then added, “I believe it would be better were I to betake myself away for a while. Mayhap I have some things to learn, and perhaps distance and adventure will teach them to me.”

“Perhaps,” Bucky replied, somewhat surprised by Lugh’s sudden humility. He reasoned that perhaps Lugh had done some soul searching over the past few days himself. “Well, may luck go with you, Lugh Lámfada, and doubtless we shall meet again some day.”

Lugh held out his hand. Bucky clasped it, and they parted, if not as friends, then no longer as enemies. 

***

Steve's recovery was long and uncomfortable, but happy was the day when he was healed and could leave the home of Dian Cecht. Despite Bucky's insistence, he went back to the home of Goibniu. For, as he told Bucky, “We cannot be wed from the same house.” Bucky had conceded the point, but had insisted that they be wed sooner rather than later. 

So the date was set, and two weeks later Steve, son of Joseph, and Bucky, son of Nuada, were wed. They wore matching tunics of dark blue stitched with silver, and crowns of flowers in their hair. Bucky's flowers were daffodils, for rebirth, and new beginnings; forget-me-nots for good memories, and remembrance during partings or after death; orange blossoms for a harbinger of good luck and health, eternal love, and innocence. Steve's crown was made of ox-eye daisies, for innocence, purity, beauty, and faith; butterfly weeds for sad remembrance, hope from sorrow, and “Let Me Go” as he let go of his old, mortal life; honeysuckle for bonds of love, and devoted affection. 

Merry was the feast and long, as Steve finally tasted the sweet nectar that was the food of the fae-folk, and their wedding gifts greatly appreciated. From Brigid, they received a bedcover filled with silk, to keep them warm in winter and cool in summer. Goibniu, of course, provided the feast, but he also created for them both--along with Credne, the silversmith, and Luchta, the carpenter--a beautiful bird table to sit in the palace gardens. 

Finally, it was time for Steve and Bucky to take their leave of the feasting. They ignored the ribald comments from their friends and betook themselves up to their bedchamber. 

Bucky closed the door behind them, and Steve turned to him nervously. 

“What is it, my love?” Bucky asked. 

“It's just… I have never lain with anyone before,” Steve confessed in a rush. 

Bucky's eyes widened, and he strode up to Steve, cupping his cheek and drawing him in for a kiss. “Untouched, and all for me?” he asked, his tone lightly teasing, but Steve nodded seriously. 

“All for you.”

Bucky groaned, kissing Steve again, and as their bodies pressed together, Steve could feel Bucky hard against his hip. Both excited and nervous, Steve kissed back, shifting so his own hard length was pressing against Bucky's through the layers of fabric. They both moaned at the sensation, and Bucky pulled back, gasping. 

“Slow down, my love,” he said with a laugh. “For we have all night and I plan to make this experience one which you will never forget.”

“Bucky,” Steve replied, tucking a strand of his husband’s hair behind his ear, “no matter what, I will always remember this, our first night together.”

Bucky smiled softly at him, before kissing him again. His hands came up to the belt on Steve's tunic and unfastened it, dropping it heedlessly to the floor. “Arms up,” he murmured, and when Steve did as he was bid, Bucky took the tunic by its hem and slowly pulled it up and off. After that came off the under-tunic, and Steve's bare skin was revealed to Bucky's adoring eyes. Steve fought the urge to fold his arms or cover himself up, instead letting Bucky's eyes roam over his naked torso. 

“You are beautiful,” Bucky said at length. “You are beautiful, and you are mine, and I am yours.”

Bucky knelt and unbuckled his shoes, sliding each one carefully from his feet. Then off came his hose, before Bucky stood. “My turn,” he said with a smile, and Steve nodded, before stripping Bucky down to his braies with as much care as Bucky had shown him. He had never seen another man in just their braies before, and he blushed to look upon Bucky in such a state of undress. 

“It's all right, my love,” Bucky said gently. “You may look upon me as you wish. I do not mind--in fact, I would encourage it.”

Steve nodded as he took in the hard planes of Bucky's stomach and chest, and the small smattering of hair which adorned it. He ran his hands flat over the bare skin, and Bucky shook at his touch. Steve stopped, concerned, but Bucky shook his head. 

“You do not need to stop. I do like you touching me. It feels wonderful.”

Steve smiled and wrapped his arms around Bucky's waist, pulling him close. “I have looked my fill, and you are more perfect than I could have dreamed.”

Bucky flushed, but looked pleased for all that, and took Steve's hand, leading him over to the large bed with its carved bedposts. Steve climbed onto it and Bucky climbed on after him, laying next to him and drawing him in for kiss after kiss, each one sweeter than the last. 

“May I remove your braies?” Bucky asked quietly, and Steve nodded. Bucky took his time removing them, kissing each inch of skin as it was revealed but ignoring his hard cock, then down his thighs and calves to his feet. Bucky pressed a kiss to the soles of each of his feet, then slid back up the bed to lay beside him. He ran his hand down Steve's chest to his navel, then further until his hand brushed against Steve's cock. Steve whined, hips bucking forwards, and Bucky smiled wide before taking him in hand and stroking him deftly. 

It felt nothing like those furtive moments when Steve would touch himself in the quiet of his own, lonely bed. It was a thousand times better, and he thought he might die from the sweet sensations coursing through him. But he could feel himself getting close, and shook his head. 

“If you keep doing that, I will spill too soon,” he managed, and Bucky nodded. He went to remove his own braies, but Steve stopped him. “Let me,” he said softly, and Bucky smiled at him. 

Steve removed Bucky's braies carefully, to reveal his beautiful thick cock, hard and heavy against his stomach. He ran his fingers through the lush, wiry hair at the base, then down to his balls, making Bucky shiver. He held them in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the lightly furred skin, before grasping Bucky's cock firmly and giving it a few experimental strokes. 

Bucky gasped, his hips moving and, emboldened, Steve swiped his thumb through the moisture in the slit, spreading it around the head. 

“Steve, oh Steve, wait,” Bucky moaned, and Steve paused, looking at Bucky questioningly. Bucky pulled him in for a kiss. “You may be an innocent, but your touch makes me wild.” Bucky looked at him searchingly. “I do not want to assume, so tell me. What is it that you want?”

Steve smiled at his husband. “I have thought about this these last two weeks, and what I really want is to feel you inside me.”

Bucky surged up from the bed and kissed him again, rolling them over so Steve was beneath him. He knelt up and put his hand into the drawer of the cabinet beside the bed, emerging with a large pot. 

“What is that?” Steve asked. 

“Some lubrication to ease the way,” Bucky explained, and Steve nodded although he did not quite understand. 

Bucky took a pillow from the head of the bed, and tapped Steve on the thigh. “Lift your hips, my love.” Steve did so, and Bucky slid the pillow underneath him. Bucky opened the pot and swirled his fingers in it, and they came out slick. He then settled himself between Steve's spread thighs and began to tease at the furled rim of Steve's entrance with his lubricated fingers. 

Steve blushed, but the feeling was too good to ignore and he groaned. Bucky smirked, then slowly pushed a finger inside. It felt strange, and stranger still when Bucky began to move. After a few minutes, however, he became accustomed to the sensation and began to relax. 

“Are you ready for more?” Bucky asked softly, and Steve nodded. Bucky pushed in a second finger, and that feeling of strangeness was back; if possible, it was even more pronounced this time. But then Bucky moved his fingers against something inside him that made Steve cry out. 

“What…?” he asked, dazed, but Bucky merely smiled at him and kept going, kissing the inner part of Steve's thigh as he fingered him open. When Bucky began to stretch him there was some pain, but not too much. Steve grit his teeth against it and willed his body to relax. 

It helped that Bucky was interspersing the stretching with rubbing against that spot inside him that made him see stars behind his eyelids. By the time Bucky added a third finger, Steve was practically whimpering, his cock hard and leaking against his stomach. But Bucky took his time, making sure Steve was ready, before he finally withdrew his fingers. 

Bucky picked up the pot and used some of the contents to cover his cock, then knelt between Steve's legs. Steve could feel the head of Bucky's cock resting against his centre, and took a deep breath. 

“Are you sure?” Bucky asked him, and Steve nodded. 

“I'm sure,” he replied, smiling. 

Bucky laced their fingers together, using his other hand to guide himself. As he pushed inside, Steve gasped at the burn and stretch and the feeling of blunt pressure. 

Bucky paused, looking concerned. “Are you alright, my love?” he asked, his voice strained.

Steve nodded. “Please… keep going.”

Bucky looked unsure, but did as Steve had told him, pushing in slowly. At last, Steve felt Bucky's hips pressed against his ass and he let out a long, shuddering breath. He could feel sweat begin to form on his temples, and saw that Bucky was likewise flushed. Bucky leaned down to kiss him deeply and, as they kissed, Steve could feel his body begin to relax and adjust to having Bucky inside of him. 

At length, Bucky pulled back. “How are you feeling?” he asked, and Steve shrugged. 

“It feels… strange,” he said with a small laugh. “But I think that you can move now.”

Bucky's lips quirked up into a smile, before beginning to move his hips, thrusting gently and slowly. It still felt strange, but it was pleasurable too, feeling Bucky move inside of him. 

Then Bucky changed the angle of his thrusts, hitting that spot inside him on almost every movement. Steve cried out, feeling his cock jump and leak against his stomach. 

“Good?” Bucky asked.

“Yes, so good, oh Bucky, my Bucky, please don't stop. I need…”

Bucky looked down at him, smiling, and began to speed up his thrusts, driving Steve wild with pleasure. 

“Bucky… I don't think I will be able to last much longer,” Steve moaned, and Bucky nodded. 

“Then touch yourself, my love. I wish to see you fall apart for me.”

Steve brought a hand down to his aching cock and began to stroke it in time with Bucky's thrusts. Sure enough, it was not long before Steve felt his climax overtake him, and he spilled over his hand and stomach as he cried out Bucky's name. 

Bucky bit his lip as he kept thrusting, only two, three times more before he groaned, hips stilling as he climaxed inside Steve. 

They lay there panting for a few moments, catching their breath, then Bucky shifted, pulling out of Steve's body. Steve could tell he was trying to be careful, but it still hurt a little for all that. 

Bucky saw him wincing and lay down beside him, peppering kisses all over his face, as he murmured, “Sorry,” half under his breath. 

“Do not apologise,” Steve said softly, “for it was wonderful. I do not mind a small amount of pain for all the pleasure you brought me.”

Bucky kissed him again, and again, as though he could not get enough, but at length he pulled back. 

“Now sleep, my love, for tomorrow you become one of the daoine sìth.”

Steve nodded and, laying his head on Bucky's chest, soon fell into a deep slumber. 

***

The following day, once they had dressed and broken their fast with the king--whose knowing looks had made both of them blush, although he had said nothing--they went back to their chamber. 

“I will go to Dian Cecht for the potion, which he should have made ready by now,” Bucky said, wrapping his arms around Steve's waist. “Meet me in the clearing in a half an hour, and bring the clothes you arrived in, for they will be part of it.”

Steve nodded and kissed him, and Bucky took his leave. Steve went to his bag, full of clothes he had not yet unpacked, and found the clothes he had arrived in, which he had not worn since then. As he pulled them out the bag, something clattered to the floor, and he picked it up. It was the iron nail which he had always carried in the mortal realm. 

He looked at it thoughtfully, then pocketed it. Picking up the clothes, he left the palace and walked briskly towards the clearing. 

When Steve arrived, Bucky was already there, a steaming silver goblet in his hand and a large hole dug in the ground beside him. As Steve approached, Bucky looked up at him and smiled. 

“Come, my love, for I have made everything ready for you,” he said. Steve strode up to him and kissed him, mindful of the goblet which he held. 

“What must I do?” he asked. 

Bucky hesitated. “I must ask again if you are sure,” he said softly, “for it would do you no good to regret this. Once you take this step, you can never return fully to the mortal realm.”

“And what is there in the mortal realm for me?” Steve responded. “No family, few friends, nothing to truly hold me. No, my love, I am sure.”

Bucky nodded. “Put your clothes in the hole there. You will cover them with earth as you bury your old life in the ground.”

Steve placed his clothes in the hole, then took the iron nail from his pocket. Bucky recoiled immediately. 

“What is that?”

“A remnant of my old life,” Steve replied quietly. “As a blacksmith, I always carried a spare nail in my pocket. But this I no longer need.” And with that, he threw the nail into the hole with the clothes; as soon as he had done so, he felt lighter, as though a great weight had been taken off him. He covered the pile with earth, and patted the earth down with the shovel. 

“Now, sit here, in the spot where you arrived in our world,” Bucky said, and Steve did as Bucky bid him. Bucky handed him the goblet. “Drink all of this down and lay down immediately, for it will start to work quickly.”

“What will it do?” Steve asked. 

“It will make you sleep for a while, as it removes your mortality and makes you one of us.”

Steve nodded, suddenly nervous. But as he looked up at Bucky's smiling face, he knew that he could choose no other path and be truly happy. He raised the goblet to his lips and drank deep to the last drop, then lay down immediately. He felt a stupor come over his whole self, and quickly fell into a deep sleep. 

***

Bucky sat himself next to Steve and watched as Steve slept on, as the magic took to work. It was old magic, but it had not been used for some time. Still, he could see subtle changes beginning to happen already, as Steve's beauty lost its earthy, mortal look and became more radiant--more like the daoine sìth. Bucky felt this was a great pity, as Steve's mortal beauty had been charming, but knowing that they would now be together for centuries made up for such a trifle. 

Two full hours by the clock later, Steve began to stir awake. Bucky reached over and grasped his hand as his eyes blinked open. 

“How do you feel?” Bucky asked. 

“I am not sure,” Steve said slowly. “There is a difference, to be sure--I feel as though I could fly.”

Bucky laughed softly. “I would not try that, my love, but I am glad you suffer no ill effects.”

Steve reached up, pulling Bucky down beside him and drawing him in for kiss after kiss. At length, Bucky pulled back. 

“Come, my love. We shall return home to the palace.”

“Home,” Steve repeated, smiling, and together they walked hand in hand towards their future.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Dim Vales and Shadowy Floods](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10977687) by [velvetjinx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetjinx/pseuds/velvetjinx)




End file.
